The Four Levels of Godhood
by Zen'Aku Lati
Summary: Four individuals' lives are thrown together when an Evil Being decides to play God. Now they must choose between good and evil when they are forced to live up to a destiny they didn't choose.
1. Prologue

**The Destiny Trilogy. Book One: The Four Levels of Godhood. Part I: Inteurn. Prologue**

Some may not realize this fact, but the Power Rangers TV show is not as fictional as one might think. All the TV shows are are fictional, cleaned up retellings of actual events, neatly edited into a twenty-two minute slot. This double negative works because for years not such evil has been able to get to Earth; these evils have been well policed. But it is only a matter of time before the most dangerous evil of all makes his way to Earth to threaten our way of life and disrupt the carefully constructed double negative. With this new urgency, it becomes necessary to prepare the people by showing them the not-so PC side of being a Ranger, meanwhile training the unsuspecting chosen Ranger for what is to come. When this day comes, a select few of our beloved heroes will have to step up to the plate…

But let us not think of such things just yet. Rather, let me bring this tale back to the beginning. Back hundreds of years to a world Earth knows nothing of. Let me tell you the story of four individuals whose lives intertwine and in so doing will change the course of their futures...

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On the remote world of Likjatbi, sorcery and magic are not uncommon. Nor are their practitioners. In this setting it is not impossible for a sorcerer, which is the lowest Level of Godhood, to rise up the ranks and become Keeper (also known as "Power Ranger" on earth), which is the second Level of Godhood. These Keepers are granted more access to the Powers of the Universe. Then to Demigod, and then finally to Ancient, which is the highest level, and is granted all of the Powers of the Universe.

Perhaps it is the fact that it is not impossible, though not easy, to attain such power that is the problem. Anyone can be granted access. The Powers don't discriminate between good and evil. The only people that can judge between good and evil are the Ancients themselves.

What happens, then, when among the ancient hides an evil?

Let me begin with the story of an ambitious man named Inteurn, who had successfully risen up the ranks from Sorcerer, to Keeper, to Demigod, successfully going through the appropriate trials to reach the ultimate goal of the rank of Ancient. But with each step of the way, his hunger for power increased. And even once he had attained the status of Ancient, he was not satisfied. His heart grew restless for more.

Because the Ancients have such power, it would be quite easy for an Ancient to abuse such powers. Therefore, the Ancients' rule is that of a passive deity. They held counsels and watched over their subjects, but they did not directly control their subjects' lives. This is what irked Inteurn the most. But the Ancients do have a vast knowledge of all things going on around them. An understanding of the past present and future, and how to best guide each event. Therefore the Ancients were aware of the potential for evil in their midst.

Despite all their powers and knowledge, though, they needed each other to gain the knowledge they would need to best judge the comings and going of their subjects' lives. But Inteurn was often off by himself, plotting, which made the other Ancients uneasy at not knowing exactly what he was thinking.

Inteurn had his suspicions that the Ancients were on to him and proceeded with more urgency. As I stated previously, the passivity of the Ancients in the lives of the people bothered him. He felt this shouldn't be. He felt that they, as Ancients should be revered as Gods among men. This was his goal. He would also be a generous God. Those that chose to worship him would be rewarded with whatever they desired.

This proved dangerous when a warlord sought the totally annihilation of his enemies. This sent off alarms amongst the Ancients, for Inteurn's direct participation threw off the carefully constructed chain of events the Ancients intended to follow. The Ancient decided that that was their cue to do something about their little rebel.

Since the rule states that one Ancient may not seek to destroy another, the most they could do with Inteurn was strip him of the ability to know the past, present and future and dismiss him from their ranks.

Angry that the Ancients had the audacity to dismiss him from their ranks and at the fact that they halted his plans, he decided to wage a war against them the citizens of Likjatbi dubbed The War for Power. He had assembled to his side some of the darker creatures he had created while still a Sorcerer, as well as calling in the assistance of Sorcerers he practiced with. He would use this assembly to take on the Demigods, Keepers and good Sorcerers that would fight on the Ancients' side.

But with all the tricks and powers and alliances he acquired, he was still no match for the Ancients, and Inteurn lost the War for Power. The next step would have been for Intuern to be detained for treason, but knowing this would likely happen, he escaped to the one place he knew an Ancient couldn't touch him: the Nether Realm. Despite not being able to trek to the Nether Realm, they kept a sharp watch for any strange occurrences bearing Iteurn's signature. But knowing that as long as he stayed in the Nether Realm he was untouchable, he plotted unobstructed.

He would get his revenge on the Ancients and he would get all the power he sought, he would just have to you a different approach. A more subtle approach.

And then the news he had been hoping for finally came. The Oracle, his contact on Likjatbi informed him that a child was born.

Yes, she will be the key to executing the plan. Now the wheels were in motion. Let the vengeance begin.

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	2. Chapter 1: Son

**The Destiny Trilogy. Book One: The Four Levels of Godhood. Part I: Inteurn. Chapter 1: Son**

_**It was the Red season, the season when the temperature went from hot to cool and the sands shifted color accordingly. To the Likjatish, this season was called Gos. To us on Earth, we would call this Fall. But in spite of the beauty and serenity this season would normally bring, one man couldn't find peace. **_

Jerod had worn a path in the scarlet sand pacing in worry. He had been waiting for hours for any news from the midwife on how his wife was fairing and on the status of the birth of his child. He strongly considered going right into the animal-skin hut and just seeing for himself, but he knew that was frowned upon.

Jerod's fellow villagers looked upon him with worry and sympathy, for it was no secret that his wife had had a difficult pregnancy and was having a difficult birth.

Just then the midwife immerged from the hut, her apron bloodied. Obstructing his path, the woman who must have been in her fifties said to him "You have a healthy baby boy, but your wife needs her rest, so tread softly." With that said, she stepped aside to let him pass.

Stepping in the dimly lit hut he observed the peaceful look on his wife's face under the light of the oil lamp. He also looked upon his newborn son with amusement as he watched him trying to kick his way out of the homespun cloth he was wrapped in.

Jerod gathered his lively son in his arms and approached his sleeping wife. He moved aside her sweat-drenched hair and kissed her lightly on the forehead. But despite how careful he was trying to be, she still aroused.

She opened her eyes, gave him a tired smile and drifted back off to sleep. He looked upon her face for a little while longer before turning to go. He wanted to show off his son.

Walking around the village, which now bathed its now-red sands in the light of the two moons, accepting congratulations as he went, he struggled for a name for his new son. "What shall I call you, little man?" The newborn gave him a puzzled look, which made him laugh.

"Shall I call you…Helcion?" The baby gave another puzzled look. "How about…Bertrand?" The baby stuck out his tongue. "Not that either, hmm? Then what do you think of…Inteurn?" With this the baby gave him a gummy grin, forming a spit bubble. Laughing and lifting his son high into the air Jerod declared, "Then 'Inteurn' it shall be!"

**_From then on Inteurn continued to be his parents' pride and joy. His father taught him to hunt and fight. His mother taught him to read and a love for the temple. He attended services and scroll classes at the local temple: the Temple of Wind. He was even considering becoming a monk. Inteurn loved his family, his village and his life, and would fight to protect them._**

Unfortunately, when he was fourteen he got an opportunity to prove it. Without warning, the small village found itself under attack by a war band on horseback that came in the still of the night; and within weeks, the village was under the war band's occupation.

No longer was Inteurn able to attend services or take classes at the Temple of Wind, for that was the first thing to get shut down. Inteurn wondered what became of his Joir teacher, even though he tended to dislike him.

Inteurn hated the marauders for taking away the peace and beauty that once belonged to his village…that once belonged to his mother. But Inteurn wasn't the only one angry.

**_After being occupied for a few months, the villagers decided they'd had enough and staged an uprising._**

**_There had been secret grumbling among the men of the village for quite some time now, and they decided that it was about time they did more than just grumble. This was why they were all gathered together at the Temple of Wind. The village leader called for order to the meeting._**

"These savages have trespassed on our home and disrupted our way of life for far too long! We must mobilize and force them out for our village's sake and our family's sake!" There came a roar of agreement in reply. It didn't take much to motivate the men, for they all felt the same way.

"What should we do about our families?" Spoke up a concerned husband and father. "I don't want anything to happen to my wife and daughters when we take on these barbarians." A majority of the men vocalized their agreement. "A justified concern, Brother." Began the village leader. "I've been making arrangements with the village leader of the next village over, to house our families for the time being. We can have them evacuated the night before we strike." That seemed to put the man's mind at ease.

"When do we strike?" asked a younger man in his twenties. "As early as the morning after tomorrow. Spaces should be available in the next village over by then." Answered the village leader. By a large, the men seemed to agree with this time frame. But Inteurn's father had been giving this some thought and striking so soon did not sit so well with him. Inteurn, who had been deemed old enough to attend the meeting, noticed the uncertainty cloud over his father's face.

"Brother, with all due respect, is it truly wise to attack so soon? Wouldn't it be more prudent to plan a bit more?" Asked Inteurn's father. His question brought a hush to the hall.

"Brother Jerod, if you knew that there was a place your wife could go where she would be safe that was available right now, wouldn't you rather her be there _sooner_ rather than later?" He paused, as if waiting for an answer. "Besides," he continued. "It would be _most prudent_ to strike right away because the savages will notice something is wrong when there are no women or children, and we would lose our chance." The village leader rebutted, challenging Jerod to argue with his logic. The other men agreed with this reasoning. Jerod said nothing.

Having his father spoken down to did not sit well with Inteurn.

"We can use what tools we have around us as weapons. Tell your wives to start packing." Continued the village leader. He paused. "We may not succeed, but we must at least try, for what kind of men would we be otherwise?" He reasoned, and with that, the meeting was ended.

What the village leader didn't realize was that their occupants were aware of the placement arrangements he had made. The following night when the women and children prepared to make that day-long ride to the next village over, they would only succeed in getting half way before getting ambushed…They'd never make it to the next village…

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The winds were changing most unfavorably. It would only get worse from here. He must seize the opportunity that chaos provided and make his escape. But he knew he could not leave without the boy, which would mean going _back_ into the village. That boy was the only thing worth turning back for. There was no way he could allow such potential to be laid to waste with the rest of the village.

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**_It was utter chaos, and even thought the men of the village organized to fight off their occupants, they weren't making any headway with the better-armed, better-organized band. _**

It was into this chaos that young Inteurn found himself; he chose to stay and fight alongside his father. It was also in this chaos where the Joir made his appearance.

"Joir!" Cried Inteurn in surprise. The teacher leapt off his horse and moved passed Inteurn and towards his father, not even looking in the boy's direction. "Sir," came the authoritative voice of the teacher. "Allow me to take your son out of here." Inteurn saw his father turning this proposition over in his head. Inteurn's father considered the Joir in high esteem, plus he realized that the likelihood of surviving this battle was slim, and having his son brought up by someone as respectable as the Joir would put his mind at ease.

"Father, no!" Inteurn argued. "I assure you, sir, he will be safe with me." The teacher continued, ignoring Intuern's pleas. "Father!" Inteurn bellowed, fretting at the possibility of being separated from his father.

"Son, I want you to go with the Joir." The father stated. This was no time for arguments, but from his son he would get one. "But father, I wish to stay and fight with _you_!"

Inteurn received a final embrace from his father and within moments, he was mounted behind the Joir on his horse and speeding away from the village where he had spent his whole life. He looked back tearfully.

"Never look back, son. There is never anything to see." Spoke to Joir. "I am not your son." Spat Inteurn in reply.

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**_They had slowed their pace once they reached their destination._**

"Well, young man, what you see before you is Lijog City." Said the teacher, careful not to call the boy "son", as they entered into the square that still bustled with life despite the fact that it was now late at night. Merchants were closing up their booths and carting them away for the night while last-minute hagglers tried for a deal. They rode passed taverns with owners throwing rowdy patrons out for closing time.

They rode deeper into the city until the streets became less noisy. They finally stopped at the outskirts of the city in front of a pharmacy where a horse was tied. "We've arrived." Stated the teacher as he dismounted the horse, Inteurn followed suit, looking up at the two-story building that was neatly stuck between a tailor's shop and a shoe repairman's shop.

"'Lijog'…doesn't that mean 'Water'?" Inteurn asked, as he watched the Joir unload his horse. "Open that door for me, please." The Joir requested. The boy obeyed. "Follow me." Commanded the teacher as he passed through the doorway.

"I suppose you're wondering why a city as dry as the rest of this planet would be called 'Water'." The Joir didn't have to turn around to know that the boy was nodding his head in the affirmative.

"Gradice!" The Joir yelled into the darkness. "Gradice, son, could you give us some light?" Suddenly an oil lamp was lit and holding the lamp was a young man who looked a year or two older than Inteurn, and had long blonde hair where Inteurn had long silver hair. "Master! You've returned!"

"Intuern, this is Gridice, my pupil of six years. Gradice, this is Inteurn. He will be staying with us." Said the Joir, getting the formalities out of the way. "Pleased to meet you." Said Gradice with a slight nod of his head. "Gradice, could you put this in my quarters?" said the Joir, handing over his load. Gradice took it and scurried away.

"Follow me, Inteurn." Said the teacher. Leading him to the back of the shop where the stairs were, the Joir began his explanation. "Looks are deceiving, for indeed this is a Water City, only the water us underground. You see, on this planet, water is big business, and this City is the center of the water production industry. But why show off the goods?" They moved up the stairs and the Joir pointed out what would be Inteurn's room. The room was bare because no one used it. "I'll have Gradice bring you some bed sheets. Tomorrow I'll take you into the clothing district and buy you some clothes."

After Inteurn was settled in his new room, he came back downstairs and sat with the Joir and Gradice at the little table they had set up for meals off to the side. "Well, hello there! We were just talking about you and how you'd be staying with us." Said the Joir with a smile. A shadow fell over Inteurn's face as he thought of the circumstances that brought him there.

Seeing this, the Joir opted to go into mentor mode because honestly, nothing he could say would comfort the boy. "Look, son…" he began, but was cut off by Inteurn, for there was that dreaded word again. "Do **not** call me 'son'. I **know** who my father is!" "Yes. Of coarse. I was only trying to say that it would do you know good to look back, for there will be nothing to see!" The Joir argued. "You speak as if you know!" Inteurn shot back. The Joir hesitated. It was only for a moment, but it was all Inteurn needed to come to a conclusion.

"You knew! You could've stopped it, yet you did nothing!" Inteurn couldn't look at the Joir. Partly because tears were stinging his eyes. But mostly because he was disgusted. He ran back up the stairs to the room he had just been granted and slammed the door that unfortunately didn't lock.

Inteurn flopped onto the bed and began pounding the pillow. He wanted to stay with his father, no matter how badly the uprising was going. He knew that, judging by how badly it was going, he, his father and many of the villagers wouldn't survive. The likelihood that he might have lost his mother and father, and the fact that none of it had to happen, was killing him. He couldn't bear being in that place for another moment.

He leapt from the bed, grabbed his oil lamp, and bounded down the stairs and out the front door. He untied one of the horses from the front of the shop and sped away. He wasn't running away, he wasn't that melodramatic. Rather, he was running _back_.

"Master, shall I go after him?" Gradice asked. "Wait, Gradice. Let him have a head start." Advised the Joir. "You will need my ring."

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	3. Chapter 2: Out Cold

**The Destiny Trilogy. Book One: The Four Levels of Godhood. Part I: Inteurn. Chapter 2: Out Cold**

**_When he arrived back at his village, it was morning, and under the morning sun he was able to see every detail with horrid clarity._**

The smell of burnt flesh—whether it was from the burned down huts that were made of animal hides or the remains of the villagers—hung heavily in the air. It was the first thing to hit him as he re-entered the village. He resisted the urge to throw up.

How could so much destruction be achieved in a mere few hours? So much death…

Inteurn was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw that Gradice was suddenly next to him on his own horse. How was he able to follow him without Inteurn seeing or hearing him? "How…?" Inteurn began. "I have my ways, that's all you need to know for now." Gradice cut in. "You make me nervous, Gradice." Said Inteurn, shaking his head and dismounting his horse. Gradice followed suit.

Just then, the wind kicked up, whipping Inteurn's long, silver hair into his face. And with the wind came a flood of memories of what this place once was.

An evil mixture of anger and sorrow washed over him as he walked around the remnants of the village. He made his last stop at the place where the hut he was born in once stood, now just timber, Gradice close in tow. Fresh anger welled up within him.

Suddenly he heard movement and a groan coming from a pile of charred wood nearby. Someone survived! Inteurn moved to where he heard the movement and removed the debris—to reveal his father…

Inteurn fell to his knees beside him, not caring that he now knelt on sharp bits of wood and broken glass. "Father…what have they done to you?" Inteurn whispered, tears forming in his eyes, even though he knew too well. He observed the part at his father's ribs and head where he was bleeding. They had pierced a lung. He wouldn't last long; he knew…Inteurn cradled his father's head in his arms. Jerod's breathing was labored. "Son…you shouldn't've come back…"

"Inteurn, we must go." Came Gradice's reluctant but insistent request. "Do **not** tell me when I must go!" Inteurn shot back, giving Gradice the only death look. How dare he think of pulling him away from his dying father? "Inteurn," Gradice persisted with more confidence. "They are coming back!"

Before Inteurn could protest again, Gradice grabbed onto him. Inteurn wondered what that would achieve; the land his village had been built on was a flat plain, and since the village was now **flattened**, anyone coming over the horizon could just _see_ them. "Don't move. Don't breathe." Gradice ordered. Inteurn looked upon him as if Gradice had gone crazy.

Gradice raised his hand, revealing a single gold ring around his thumb, with a diamond set in it. He gave the ring a twist so that the diamond was at the top of his thumb. "Stay very still." Gradice whispered harshly, as a small team of perhaps a score of the marauders rode back into the leveled area.

"Son?" Jerod wheezed, looking around, and at one point, staring _right at_ Inteurn, but the frantic look on Jerod's face suggested that he couldn't see him! Inteurn resisted the urge to call out _Father, I'm right here!_ for a handful of the marauders had dismounted. One of them heard Jerod speak and came over to investigate. Inteurn was frantic.

"Well, what have we here?" the brute sneered, far too amused with himself. "A survivor." He said, grinning his horrible teeth and drawing his large knife. Inteurn couldn't stand there while this animal finished his father off. Inteurn pulled out of Gradice's grasp and launched at the brute. "Get away from my father, you animal!" Inteurn growled as he tackled the man to the ground and pinned him down. "Inteurn, don't!" Came Gradice's concerned voice. He came into full visibility. No sense staying hidden.

Inteurn restrained the man's knife hand and punched the man with his free hand. Inteurn was aware that the other men were present and surrounding them, but he didn't care. "What have you done with my mother, you fiend?" He hissed.

Now it was in the afternoon and everything was still. The most prominent sound was that of heavy breathing. The marauders drew their weapons. Gradice stood guard over Jerod. The tension hung heavy in the air, but Inteurn still didn't care. He continued to press for answers. "Answer me!" He bore his teeth like a wolf.

A single voice of laughter broke the tension—but added to the sense of danger in exchange. The man bearing the laugh stepped forward; obviously he was the leader. He sheathed his weapon and made a hand signal for the others to do the same. The leader was very amused by this scene and thought that the boy had spunk, which he admired.

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Monsters. All of them. He was surrounded by inhuman, monsters. How they sneered. They were mocking him. Yes, they were mocking the boy for being so silly as to be upset that his beloved village was nothing more than charred timber and a memory now; that only the Gods knew what became of his mother; that his father's life was slipping away at that very moment…They laugh, and the man now approaching him—obviously the leader—laughed the hardest. It was time for Inteurn to make it stop.

"This fool may not have the answers I seek," Began Inteurn, drawing the sword of the man he had pinned and standing quickly. "But _you_ certainly would!" Finished Inteurn as he pointed the sword at the leader. "Do you dare hold a sword to me, boy?" Laughed the leader, as if it were the funniest thing known to man as he drew his own sword and playfully tapped it against Inteurn's stolen outstretched sword. Before Inteurn could act on his anger the man he had tackled restrained him. The leader simply walked over and took the sword from the boy's hand.

"Foolish boy." Said the leader. He shook his head and smiled. _He mocks me still!_ Thought Inteurn, angered that he could do nothing, for he was no match for these men. He did the only thing he could do to prove his disdain: he spat at the man before him, which caught the man right on the nose. The leader found this all too amusing, and was still smiling when he backhanded the boy.

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The tension that was instantly built was so thick it was suffocating. The surrounded three were not at ease, to say the least. Gradice was standing guard over Inteurn's father, and it pained him to see the older man face so stricken with pain and fear for his son. Gradice stooped down to meet him and attempted to lighten the steadily weakening man's worry.

"Hello, Bizohedo sir/mister. I'm afraid we weren't properly introduced." Began Gradice, smiling sincerely. "I'm Gradice Yugesoji." "I am Jerod Matabretish." Inteurn's father replied, barely audible. "It's an honor to meet you," Said Gradice honestly. He could see why Inteurn was so adamant about anyone else claiming him as son. "I assure you, Bizohedo Matabretish, I will watch over your son for as long as I can. The Joir and I will keep an eye on him and we will make sure he never forgets you." Gradice promised, meaning it with all his heart. Jerod smiled and wheezed. Seeing the man in such pain saddened him. "Shh, be still," said Gradice, smiling soothingly as he placed his hand lightly over Jerod's eyes and said a quiet prayer to the guardian of the Nether Realm. He will put the man out of his misery. Within moments he felt Jerod's spirit leave his body through Gradice's fingers. "Peace be with you, Bizohedo…"

Gradice then turned his attention to Inteurn and his predicament, for now he was being restrained by the marauders and was being manhandled.

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"Do you really wish to know what became of your mother, boy?" The leader cackled. "Yes." Inteurn hissed through clenched teeth. "Well, boy, your mother, as well as all the other women and children have been sold into slavery. But I kept some of the more spunky boys to be apart of my ranks. And I think you would be a suitable addition."

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Gradice knew that something needed to be done; he had the power so it would be his obligation. And whatever he decided to do, he'd better do it now. Gradice made for the ring but something occurred to him: if he doesn't succeed, the first thing that'll happen once he's detained is the ring will be taken away from him. _So I guess I'll be doing this the old fashioned way, then,_ He concluded.

Gradice found it fortunate that the marauders had their weapons sheathed; he wanted every advantage he could get. He rose from where he had been kneeling next to Inteurn's now-dead father, strode confidently up to one of the men and without hesitation, punched him in the stomach hard enough for the man to double over his fist, and followed that up with an uppercut. The other men now drew their weapons.

Two of the men launched at him just then. One swung for Gradice's head, the other lunged for his stomach. Gradice waited for the last possible moment and back flipped, resulting in the two men striking each other instead.

Another man thrusted for Gradice's gut, but Gradice sidestepped, allowing the sword to pass him. Using the man's momentum, Gradice grabbed the man's extended right hand at the wrist with his left hand, grabbed the man's upper arm with his right hand, and punched the man in the jaw with his left hand, all in one fluid motion, the slid his right hand down the man's arm and took his sword.

The man was regaining his bearings, but Gradice was already upon him. He quickly swooped behind the man, holding the man's head steady with his left hand and drew the sword across they man's throat with his right hand, then let the man fall.

Another man was making for him, but this man was careful not to rush him. Gradice readied himself, but a slash to his back halted his attack. He dropped his stolen sword and fell to his knees, and then fell face-first into the sand. The shock of the pain momentarily immobilized him.

The man that attacked Gradice from behind flipped him over and stratled him, pinning him down. The man raised his sword with both hands, aiming the tip at Gradice's neck and stabbed downwards…but Gradice caught the blade between his clasped hands.

Under Gradice's grip the blade began to quake violently. This surprised the man, and in his surprise the man loosened his grip on the sword. Gradice seized this opportunity. He quickly tossed aside the weapon and pushed the man onto his back. Without hesitation, Gradice clawed his hand over where the man's heart should be, and concentrated. Gradice balled his hand into a fist. The man yelled out in anguish as he felt his heart burst on the inside…and then the man was very still…

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Inteurn couldn't quite comprehend what he was seeing. He was struck dumb with awe. Indeed, Gradice did make him nervous.

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Suddenly the leader heard the sounds of struggle going on behind him and when he turned around to see what was going on, all he saw was the other young man taking on his men—and was holding his own rather effectively. The leader began considering how lucky he was to have such potential fall right into his lap. But as impressed as he was with this display, he didn't want to lose any more of his men, and the longer his men fought the boy, the more likely it was that they would kill him.

The leader raised his arms and closed his eyes. A strong wind began kicking up the sand around him, speeding up until it became a cyclone. Instantly the struggling stopped, for now the combatants could no longer reach each other…or the ground.

Then he turned his attention to the stunned boys that suddenly found themselves floating. The wind around them spun faster and faster until both boys were in the eye of their own twister. The wind stole their breath, discontinuing the airflow to their brains, thus knocking them unconscious. Easing everyone back down to earth, the leader said playfully, "Alright men, enough fooling around. Take the boys to the wagon and let's move out!"

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Gradice was in sensory overload; trying to understand why he was floating, compounded with the sharp pain in his lower back, was enough to make his head spin. He was truly getting dizzy, and before he blacked out completely, he came to one last realization: _That man is a wind mage also! _

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	4. Chapter 3: Desert Game

**Author's note: Brownie pointsto whoever can figure out who Magarsic, Aldulne and Friederon are...**

**The Destiny Trilogy. Book One: The Four Levels of Godhood. Part I: Inteurn. Chapter 3: Desert Game**

Leila knew something bad would happen, at least, a new _shade_ of bad. That night when her husband came home from the meeting and told her of the plans that were made, she knew it was doomed to failure. She had little to no faith in her and the other women's chance for escape; she understood the situation well. She was, if anything, realistic.

Now here Leila sat, bruised and bleeding, but silent, upon the cold stone floor of the cell with the other women who _were_ crying. Here she sat, silent, waiting for the fresh batch of bad that was sure to come.

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Gradice awoke with a stinging pain in his lower back and a headache like no other. He realized right away that he was in a wagon on his way to gods-know-where. "I hate this." Gradice grumbled, mournfully. This situation was awful on so many levels. But did he really expect anything else? Plus, this was what he was there for: to make sure that Inteurn makes it out of such predicaments in one piece. So yes, this situation reeked like no other, but this was his duty.

If Gradice had his way, they'd be back in Lijog doing lessons, haggling with street venders over the price of cloth, riding horses deep into the deserts on the outskirts of the city...But he knew he had to let Inteurn find his own path…Dammit, shoot duty! Shoot it with a burning arrow dipped in poison! "I hate this…" he finally whined, helplessly.

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Inteurn finally awoke and was slightly startled to find the surface he had been slumped down on, was moving. Wherever he was, was very small and dimly lit, accepting only a sliver of light through a crack of what appeared to be a curtain? "We're in the back of a wagon." Came a voice from somewhere near him that startled him from his thoughts. It took Inteurn a few moments to process that the voice belonged to Gradice.

"Gradice! You startled me!" Inteurn bellowed, then, realizing that someone might hear him, he lowered his voice. "How long have you been up?" "Well, Inteurn, allow me a moment to consult my chronometer." Replied Gradice, his comment dripping with sarcasm. "I have no idea, Inteurn." He finished, head still hung between his upraised knees, never once looking in Inteurn's direction.

"Gradice, you are a _very_ funny man." Inteurn replied, flatly, as he crawled toward the sliver of light. He moved aside the canvas curtain as much as the wooden bars would allow, and peaked out. What he saw wasn't particularly splendid, not like Lijog City, but it was still something to behold. The sun was going down and the two moons were starting to become visible. The particularly sandy parts were still a peachy orange, for it was that time of year: Agicvo, the orange season.

The wagon was slowing down and a large hut was coming into view. At that moment a boy with shocking blue hair, maybe a couple of years older than Inteurn, was being thrown out of the hut, and was being yelled at for some reason Inteurn couldn't discern.

When the wagon finally came to a stop, and the drivers escorted Inteurn and Gradice out not-so gently, the boy was dusting himself off, then looked up to make eye contact with Inteurn. The boy smiled. Inteurn furrowed his brows. "My, my Inteurn. Seems like we have an admirer." Gradice teased in his ear. Narrowing his eyes to slits and turning his head to face Gradice, Inteurn retorted. "My, Gradice! Are we jealous?"

"Alright, boys. Enough chitter-chat. Our leader has asked us to escort you gentlemen to the infirmary." Said one of the drivers with mock politeness in his tone and a look in his eyes that promised all kinds of murder.

_**And off they went to the infirmary to be evaluated for injuries before roughly being led to a dorm.**_

Before they could even settle they were getting attention. "Hey look fellahs, fresh meat!" Teased a boy who was surrounded by an entourage. He was referring to both Gradice and Inteurn. He approached them, entourage in tow, and poked Gradice in the shoulder as he asked, "Hey, fresh meat, what do you call yourself?" Gradice instantly whipped out his hand to grab the boy's wrist and gave it a twist before he spoke, "Refrain from touching me." Gradice let go of the boy's hand and continued, "The name's Gradice." "And you?" Came one of the entourage, getting mere inches away from Inteurn's face. Inteurn was not in the mood for this. "It's Inteurn. Learn it." He stared the taller boy down.

As if in an attempt to lessen the tension a boy squeezed in between Inteurn and the boy, and began introducing himself. "Hello. I'm Darpa." Said the blue-haired boy Inteurn made eye contact with earlier, extending his hand for a shake. "Lemme show you around." continued the boy with a smile. "You better watch out!" Another boy cut in. "Darpa the Dogko might decide to run away with you, and we may never see you again!" That remark earned some snickers from the other boys present. Gradice's brows furrowed. He knew it was a joke, but he couldn't risk it. "Ignore them," replied Darpa defensively. "What do you say? You may not get another chance because they'll be working us like dogs bright and early." He offered, his hand still extended. Inteurn looked at it warily. Darpa took the hint and lowered his hand.

"Perhaps I should accompany you." Gradice offered. A roar of laughter followed. Gradice looked worried. Darpa looked down at his feet; his feelings were beyond hurt. Inteurn saw this and sneered, giving the other boys the only death glare. "That won't be necessary, Gradice. I'm sure I'll be fine." He declined with contempt in his voice. Turning his attention back to Darpa he stated, "Sure, Darpa. I'll go with you." Darpa's face positively lit up. "Then let's go!" Darpa chirped. Just as well, Inteurn didn't feel too keenly about staying there anyway.

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_Darpa the Dogko..._there goes that damnable phrase again. Why did the other boys insist on hurting him so? _Dogko…Dogko…_it wasn't fair. He couldn't help it if he felt the way he felt! That doesn't make him a dogko…a pervert…it wasn't fair.

Those boys had succeeded in once again trampling his self-esteem. Plus he felt like an idiot with his hand still in the air like that. And the look on the new boys face as he eyeballed his hand made him feel even more like slime. What sense did it make to be nice if everyone he met would treat him like this? He was angry, but the feeling of inadequacy ruled the day. He let his head dip, his long blue hair covering his face.

The new boy surprised him though by not only taking him up on his offer, but also agreeing to go unchapparoned. The new boy didn't know how much it meant to him.

"Then let's go!" Darpa hooked his arm in Inteurn's and they were out the door. "So, who is that other boy to you, your bodyguard or something?" Darpa asked when they had gotten some distance between them and the dorm. "Hardly!" Inteurn retorted almost defensively. "I only just met him yesterday!" He paused, and softened his tone. "I saw when you go thrown out. What was that about?" Inteurn asked.

How could Darpa tell him that he got thrown out on his ass because the boy he thought was interested in him was just _curious_, and that in order for the boy to save face, he had the other boys set on him? No, he didn't want to frighten Inteurn off when he just got there. "The other boys make it a point to pick on me. Don't ask me why."

Darpa shook his head. "Really, I hate this place. I've been here for five years now!" He lowers his voice. "My aim is to escape this place, and I've been plotting for some time now, but I don't have the means to actually execute." The moment the words left his mouth he regretted them. He didn't know what possessed him to divulge his secret intentions to this stranger.

Inteurn turned to him with a determined look in his eyes, "Well, I don't intend to stay here long." He replied in the same tone, but with an assuredness that made Darpa believe the young man had a plan. "Take me with you." Darpa pleaded in earnest. "Sure, but first I need to know the layout of this place." Inteurn requested in a business-like tone. "And this is what I'm here for." Darpa offered with a smile. He liked the new boy already.

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They had gotten some distance from the "dorm" and all the jeering boys. Inteurn had never seen such mean boys in his life! They wasted their energy setting on their own peers, when what they _should've_ been doing was banding together to rise up against the men who, now doubt, destroyed their lives as well. They needed to get their priorities straight.

"So, who's that other boy to you, you're bodyguard or something?" Darpa asked with something more than just mere curiosity. "Hardly! I only just met him yesterday!" Inteurn retorted. He was offended at the notion that Darpa would think that Gradice was anything to him at all! What made anyone think that Inteurn needed anyone's protection, let along Gradice's? Gradice would've much preferred it if he cowered and hid, rather than stood up and fought. To run away, instead of defend his home and family. If Gradice _really_ wanted to be useful, he could start by explaining how it is that the Joir seemed to know of his people's doom and in spite of this, did nothing to stop it!

But something else occurred to him. _Dogko._ Inteurn wasn't the most fluent in the tongue of the Ancients, but he did know what the word meant. Inteurn was disgusted that anyone would call anyone else that. "I saw when you got thrown out. What was that about?" Inteurn asked in a softer tone.

Darpa seemed to consider before answering. "The other boys make it a point to pick on me. Don't ask me why." There seemed to be more he wasn't saying, but Inteurn wouldn't pry. Darpa then went on to tell Inteurn of how much he hated the Camp and wanted to leave. And Inteurn saw Darpa mentally smack his forehead after saying it.

"Well, I don't intend to stay here long." Inteurn confided, even though he knew they were mighty big words, because he did not yet know what he was going to do. That's why he needed to take full advantage of this tour. Besides, the thought of being amongst the very men that took away his life, as he knew it, make him sick. "And that is what I'm here for." Darpa replied with a mischievous grin. And so the tour began…

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"This camp is one big circle, broken up into four districts, and is fenced off with assorted watchtowers along the fence, and guards covering all exits." Darpa gestured, feeling important because for once someone needed him.

"We're in the Information district. The others are the Guard, Weapons and Horse districts." They moved towards the construct near the fence. It was a square building made of wood, as was the building next to it, and the building next to that, and the one next to _that_. Four similarly built constructs stood side-by-side with only an alley-like walkway separating them. Each building had a sign in front.

"This is the Messenger building. This is how the Camp keeps up with what's going on the outside." They continued to walk towards the center of the circular camp. "This is the Spy building. The Camp has spies in all the cities." Darpa couldn't help the smile that was creeping across his face. It felt so good to have someone's undivided attention. "Say, Inteurn?" Darpa began out of the blue. "How old are you?" "Um, I'll be fifteen in Gos Fall." Inteurn replied casually. "I'm in my sixteenth Agicvo Spring. The moon of my birth just passed a few days ago." Darpa informed, straying away from business a little for some small talk. _Fourteen, and already so good-looking,_ Darpa thought to himself.

"Anyway, that is the Record keeping building, and next to it is the Bookkeeping building." Darpa continued, making their way to the center of the camp. "This camp conducts a lot of business with Zigayoc City." Then Darpa stops short. Instinctively, Inteurn stops as well. "And that," Darpa points to the sizey tent smack in the middle of the camp, "Is where Thaddeus sleeps." "Who?" Inteurn asks, a bad feeling coming over him. "The mastermind of this whole operation." Darpa clarified. Inteurn's face went from that of serious concentration, to stone cold. It made Darpa feel uncomfortable. "It's getting dark, I think we should head back to the Dorm. We can finish this tour tomorrow night." Darpa interjected, and they walked quickly back to the dorm.

"So, how'd the tour go? Nothing _too_ traumatic I hope?" A boy taunted. _You two-faced son-of-a-two-Nir-whore! And here I thought you actually _liked_ me!_ Darpa cursed mentally, giving the boy the only death glare. Inteurn looked as though he were in no mood for stupid jokes. Neither was Darpa, for that matter. He just wanted to find his cot and fall in it. Inteurn and the other new boy (Gradice, was it?) found free cots and made themselves comfortable. Darpa just wanted to sleep this day off, and no doubt, Inteurn felt the same way.

**The next day, bright and early **

The Joir had opened the pharmacy for business and was sitting behind the counter with his ledgers opened before him, but he could scarcely concentrate, for his mind was preoccupied with worry. He knew that Gradice was an able young man and that Inteurn was in good hands, but he couldn't shake that tight feeling that found its way into the pit of his stomach. He knew They were near, and as long as this was the case, his mind could not be at ease.

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From the watchtowers blared metal bells in unison. It positively shook the camp and caused Inteurn to practically fly out of his cot. Within moments men were storming in, yanking the few boys that actually weren't startled from their sleep, out of their cots. For a moment Inteurn forgot where he was, and in that momentary lapse in memory, he thought he was back in his village, back to that horrid night. _It's happening again!_ Then he caught his breath and looked around at the inside of the dorm, marking all the cots and startled boys and he realized where he was.

"Alright, girls! Get your lazy asses up! You know what day it is!" Bellowed one of the men. In moments Inteurn and the other boys of his dorm were rounded up and brought outside. _They've obviously practiced this_, Inteurn reasoned of the men with scorn.

The sun was barely up and the sleep was still evident in most of the boys' eyes. Darpa and Gradice both found their way to Inteurn's side. "So what's so special about today?" Inteurn asked of Darpa. Just when he was about to answer, the man from earlier spoke up, "As most of you already know, today is the start of the hunting season, which marks the beginning of our hunting competition. And as most of you already know, the competition is district against district. Maybe this year we might actually win!"

That morning the four hunting teams gathered their weapons, saddled their horses and rode until the flat desert turned into a marshy plane. In these mostly undisturbed areas one could see mountains and trees and many exotic flowers that only grew in Likjatbi.

The expedition halted and the men gave the boys of the camp their objectives and the four groups went their separate ways.

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Leila told herself to stay strong and not to show her fear as the guard came to her in the cell that now only she occupied. _Stay strong for your husband and your son_, she willed herself as he ran a filthy hand over her bruised face. He smiled a crooked smile, revealing rotting teeth and rancid breath.

"Well, tobizo miss abr., it seems like today is your lucky day." The guard spoke, breathing his horrid breath in her face. _Oh, joy. More good luck_, Leila thought to herself. "It seems like you've captured the attention of a very rich fellow, and he would very much like the meet you." The guard grinned his rotten grin. "Am I supposed to be happy?" Leila asked, not even trying to mask her contempt.

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At the very top of one of the mountains, out of sight of the hunting expedition, an emerald wolf, a lilac lioness and a white owl looked on. The white owl then left her perch and swooped down to follow the expedition before they got too far away from each other. When she was satisfied that she found what she was looking for, she circled back to where the other two were waiting for her.

In place of the lilac lioness and the emerald wolf stood a woman with long blonde hair, dressed in light purple, and a bearded man with long dark hair, accented with blonde streaks, dressed in green. Upon returning to the mountaintop, the white owl transformed into a woman, dressed in white, with long curly hay-colored hair.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Adulne?" Asked the woman in purple. "Yes. The Key is within our grasp." Adulne declared, very pleased with herself. "We must get the Key and destroy it." The man in green declared. "Always the serious one, Magarsic! Relax! He is as good as ours!" Adulne chided. "I'm serious because it is imperative for the survival of the universe that we destroy the Key! You forget, Adulne, we are on a mission!"

Feeling another argument brewing, the woman in light purple intervened, "Magarsic, love," the woman began, coming closer to her lover and placing her hands on his chest, "Adulne may be right. There should be no reason why we shouldn't have success in our mission." Turning her attention back to the woman in white, she continued. "But just to be sure, we should still be ready for any kind of set-backs or interferences."

Adulne smiled and made her way over to the blonde woman. "Of course, you're right, Freideron." She said and gave Freideron a light kiss on the cheek. Freideron smiled, her cheeks turning pink. Magarsic furrowed his brows. "Then let's get moving!" He barked.

**_The boys had been hunting all day. The sun and gone down and the two moons were making their appearances. The hunt was now over._**

Despite his better judgment, Inteurn felt good. For a moment he put aside his loathing for his captors and allowed himself to bask in his victory. Because of his airtight strategy, he was able to give the Information district their first win. Now he and his dorm mates were carrying their desert game back into the Camp to celebrate. But something caught Inteurn's ear.

"…And did you see the way Darpa the Dogko kept on trailing after Inteurn like a love-sick little dog? I swear, it seems like Darpa has moved on!" Inteurn furrowed his brows. This was getting a little out of hand. Inteurn was about the say something, when none other than the very boy that joked on Darpa the night before beat him to the punch! Hmm…

"C'mon, fellahs! Give the guy a break for once, huh? This is supposed to be a celebration!" Said the boy. "Oh, sorry, DeLuca. We didn't realize you still had feelings for the guy…" Teased the other boy. "You asshole! You just know when to quit, do you?" DeLuca spoke up defensively, no liking that the heat was suddenly on him. "Oh, c'mon, DeLuca! You think we didn't know? Come now, we weren't buying your crap for a moment!" The mean boy continued to press. "I don't know what in the Nether you're talking about, but I don't like how it sounds!" Barked DeLuca, and that began the shoving match that escalated to flying fists.

Now Inteurn was confused, but as he and Gradice broke up the fight, he slowly began to understand—and what he was beginning to understand made him uncomfortable. At that moment he would've liked nothing better than to get away from everyone.

Just then something catches his ear and he couldn't quite place it. Was it whistling, or was it singing? A combination both? Whatever it was, it belonged to a woman and it was a beautiful sound. Maybe he could find the source? He let the voice lead him to a clearing amidst a thicket of trees, and there she was: the source of that beautiful sound.

Inteurn had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. There she stood with long, curly, hay-colored hair, dressed in white clothes that he wasn't certain of the origins. Royalty, perhaps? They made eye contact, which caught his breath. She stopped singing to smile at him. As beautiful as her smile was, he didn't want her to stop singing.

But this new silence was broken by a low growl coming from behind him. His blood ran cold as he turned slowly around to see an emerald wolf bearing its teeth and salivating. Damn, he _would_ be the smart one to wander with no weapons…Still, he'd have to figure something out because it wasn't only him that was in danger, there was also the woman…Inteurn instinctively took this opportunity to look back at the woman--to find that she was gone! Just as well, it would've been a sin to have such a lovely creature be destroyed by the animal before him…

Now it was just he and the wolf—and he didn't even have the good sense to scream…

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Magarsic bore his wolfish teeth and began to snarl. He saw the fear in the silver-haired youth's eyes. Margarsic would've grinned, but in his current state he lacked the capacity. He had the Key in his sights and he was about to strike.

He launched at the frightened boy and tackled him to the ground. Magarsic slashed at the boy's neck with his paw, and was about to tear into him when a shooting pain halted him down one of his hind legs.

Magarsic let out a howl of pain and looked down to see that it was an arrow, and then he whizzed around to see a long blonde-haired boy ready with bow and arrow. As irate as he was at being kept from his objective, he wouldn't attack this other boy, for Magarsic had only _one_ target. So instead he dashed away as best as he could with an arrow lodged in his leg.

He went back to where he knew the other two were waiting for him, and transformed into his human form. And as Freideron tended to his wound, he declared, "I think we've just met with some interference."

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"By the Gods!" Gradice allowed himself to exhale, finally, as soon as he was certain the emerald wolf was gone. He rushed over to Inteurn's side and cursed himself for allowing this to happen. Inteurn was bleeding heavily from the neck and wasn't conscious. "I need some help!" Gradice shouted as loudly as he could manage.

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Thaddeus didn't accompany the hunting expedition. He had stopped attending years ago. At this time, Thaddeus took advantage of the solitude and silence the hunt provided to catch up on some work.

Running the Camp and keeping up close business ties with Zigayoc City were demanding work as they were! But topped off with his ultimate mission, meant that he's be kept busy to a sufficient degree. Besides, the "Desert Games", as the boys like to call it, is just a strategy to get the boys to work and build loyalties to each other and the Camp. Loyalty would be the thing needed if his ultimate mission was to succeed.

Just then he heard noised coming from outside his tent. Thaddeus went out to see what the fuss was about. "Open the gates!" He hears one of the guards shout. The men that remained on the Camp were running around, going in and out of the infirmary. Thaddeus wasn't stupid; he knew what was happening. Within moments the hooves of horses carrying the desert game as well as the boys came rushing into the exits, and lastly came two men carrying one of the boys on a makeshift gurney, bleeding from the neck.

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"Isn't she a pretty one?" Came the guard's voice from the corner of the room as the man that would be Leila's new husband continued to walk around her, surveying her. "I can't tell beyond all the bruises." The man said bitterly, tearing his attention from Leila long enough to shoot the guard an accusing glare.

Leila stood defiant and proud as always. She shamelessly sized the man up. "Undo these shackles!" The man demanded, looking into Leila's defiant eyes. The guard moved from his station at the corner of the room and did what he was commanded. Leila massaged the tender part of her wrists, never breaking eye contact with the man. "I hope you don't expect me to thank you." She spat.

"I don't expect you to." He said to the bruised lady. Whipping his head around towards the guard he barked again, "Leave us!" When there were only them in the ornately decorated room, he spoke again. "What is your name?" She held her head high and declared with pride, "Leila. Leila Matabretish."


	5. Chapter 4: Circumstance

**Author's note: I apologize for the long delay. I have plenty of reasons, but no excuses. Please don't think for a hot second that that gap was me being one of those stubborn writers who refuse to update unless they get X amount of reviews. Personally, I think that it is of poor taste, and is disrespectful to the readers. But alas, I'm "painfully slow," as my friend Jareth so lovingly put it, and in a way that too is disrespectful. Sigh… **

**I do appreciate those that hit my story, and rest assured, I'll only stop writing if I'm done, or terminally ill.**

**Thanks again and enjoy, Zen'Aku Lati. **

**P.S.: Two snaps to whoever can figure out who Keledean and Demorden are.**

**_The Destiny Trilogy_. **

**Book One: _The Four Levels of Godhood. _**

**Part I: _Inteurn. _**

**Chapter 4: _Circumstance. _**

Despite the fact that night was well upon the city, and many of the shops were closed, the taverns were still very populated. In fact in many cities, the taverns were the last thing to close. The Joir had closed his pharmacy for the night and found himself at the tavern even though he was in no real mind to drink.

The Joir looked up from the Perfection fruit ale he'd been nursing, to see a familiar face weaving his way through the tables of people laughing and talking and drunkards, to make his way to where the Joir was sitting at the bar.

"I see that after all these years you still prefer the sweeter brew, teacher," The bald man joked, smiling down at the Joir before taking a seat himself. "And I see that after all these years, you still refuse to grow out your hair, Demorden." The Joir replied with a smile and clapped his old friend on the back. "It's good to see you, old friend," the Joir continued, basking in the opportunity to look at his friend for the first time in what must've been decades. "The feeling's mutual, old man." Demorden replied with a smile.

"Surely I don't look _that_ old!" the Joir replied, feigning offense even though he knew that since the last time he and Demorden saw one another he had aged some. And here Demorden was, ageless as the day they met. But those days were long gone, and now the Teacher aged like any other mortal. "Why'd you ever leave our ranks?" Demorden asked, still bearing a friendly smile, but the playfulness had left his voice. "You were one of the best…" "I couldn't stay. You know that," the Joir rebutted, cutting him off and smiling patiently. The Teacher didn't regret leaving. The only thing he regretted was all the things he did in the name of duty. "It's always business with you, Demorden," the Joir continued, shaking his head. "That's why they put me in the Red!" The bald man joked.

"So, what business brings you to me?" the Joir enquired, knowing that this was not a casual meeting even if he would've liked it to be. "News of your two protégés," Demorden replied, deciding on a more serious tone. "You know that my colleagues are after the one called the Key, and you know that I can't interfere with their mission. But because it's not _my_ mission, there's nothing stopping me from informing you," said Demorden, even though he knew that he very well could be calling down the wrath of the Ancients upon his head. But this was the chance he was willing to take for a friend.

"I know all about the price on Inteurn's head," the Joir replied getting anxious. "Then I'll tell you that your protégé has survived my colleagues' first attempt, and both are being evaluated for their wounds." "Wounds…" the Joir repeated, far off in his own thoughts. Finally coming to himself, he replied, "Thank you, Demorden," but when he looked up, his old friend was gone. Raising his mug of ale, the Joir gave a solemn toast, "Here's to several more decades."

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Magarsic knew that he would recover quickly enough; that was the least of his concerns. Instead, what ruled his thoughts was the fact that they had failed in taking out the Key. He could care less about the wound on his thigh. _I mustn't fail,_ Magarsic thought to himself mournfully, and then raised his eyes to the two moons. _Why do you continue to punish me? Have I not suffered enough?_ He asked. Indeed, he was more vulnerable than he would ever let show. But he must exude confidence. Perhaps then he could regain the Great Ones' favor. Magarsic was so caught up in his own thoughts that he failed to hear when Freideron's soft voice told him that Adulne received an alert.

"Hm?" Magarsic replied in acknowledgement to Freideron's gentle shake. "I said that Adulne had just received an alert from Demorden, love," she reinforced. Freideron knew the look Magarsic often wore very well--even in the dark, but it still bothered her. And what bothered her just as much was the fact that Magarsic never confided his thoughts to her. How many ways can she show him that she was willing? That she should be the one he turns to? "He wants us to meet him and Keledean in Feuric for a briefing." Adulne elaborated.

_His bald ass should've been here,_ Magarsic thought to himself bitterly, not fully understanding how one team could have two different paths. To Magarsic, a team meant that each member had the same goal in mind. He would never understand the Ancients' reasoning for making Demorden leader. "Hey, watch it!" Adulne bellowed, offended. Adulne had had enough of Magarsic taking all his failures out on everyone. True, he could've been a great leader, but he was so much of an asshole that she had to wonder what magic Freideron possessed to be able to stand him!

"Stay out of my head, you fowl! Just because you spread your wings for him, doesn't mean that _I_ can't be put off with him!" Magarsic spat, his eyes glowing in the darkness of the night. "This is not his mission and you know it, you mutt! And I resent your reference to our relationship!" Adulne retorted as she leapt down from her perch atop a high rock. "What relationship? You're a swinging door! You can't make up your mind!" He responded hotly, and at the last part of the statement he stole an almost sorrowful glance at Freideron.

His statement stung Adulne, for even though those words were harshly said, they were still true. She took comfort in the casual relationship she shared with Demorden, and she knew that Magarsic loved Freideron, but she couldn't deny the hold Freideron seemed to have on her. Gods damn it!

Freideron fought back the blush that was threatening to stain her cheeks, all at once thankful for the limited light, and sought to reclaim the peace they had mere moments ago. "Adulne, sweetie, you know it's wrong to peek into someone's mind uninvited, and Magarsic is entitled to his opinions." Adulne smiled at the beautiful blonde diplomat in pleasant surrender. How could she ever refuse Freideron? Then Freideron turned her attention to Magarsic and continued, "And Magarsic, my love, we still have a duty to uphold, so we must go and meet Demorden. After all, he is still our leader."

Magarsic knew she was right, so he momentarily put aside his resentment and declared, "To Feuric, then."

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"How could you let this happen?" Darpa demanded angrily as he punched Gradice in the shoulder. "I didn't _let anything_ happen!" Gradice shot back, furious that this kid that barely knew either of them had the nerve to take that accusatory tone with him. Though secretly, Gradice was thinking the same thing.

The infirmary milled with life as the medics made a fuss over Inteurn, and out of the chaos came a voice declaring that they were out of a specific herb that could save Inteurn's life. Gradice would've panicked if he hadn't been so outraged. How do you run such a "grand institution" and not have everything you need? "Well, then let's strap him to a wagon and get him to a real hospital!" Gradice reasoned. It was the most obvious conclusion, yet he got looks as if he had sprouted a second head.

"Use sense, boy!" One of the medics scolded. "We can't very well have him going off to a hospital in Feuric, because there'd be a lot of explaining to do. This ain't exactly listed!" The stern man concluded, waving his hand around to indicate the Camp, then, already forgetting Gradice, the medic started barking out orders for someone to ride into Feuric and get the missing medicine. Gradice couldn't believe his ears! Did he just hear the man suggest that they should send someone out to take that four-hour ride into Feuric and another four hours back, versus making one trip of it and take Inteurn somewhere where could get better medical attention? You have got to be joking!

"I'll go!" Gradice volunteered. "Will you even know what to look for?" The medic enquired, annoyance present on his face. "I've spent most of my days in a pharmacy. I should think so," Gradice shot back, quite annoyed himself. "Well then I'll accompany you, just in case you decide you wanna alert the authorities," the medic replied, not even bothering to mask the menace in his voice, and in what felt like minutes later, Gradice and the medic had saddled their horses and were on their way to the city of Feuric.

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Darpa watched as Gradice sped away and pleaded for him to hurry, then returned his attention to Inteurn. Darpa felt helpless as he looked upon Inteurn's still form in the lamplight, for he felt as though his chance for escape was slipping away right along with Inteurn. He had put his faith in the handsome, silver-haired youth. But now it seemed like all hope was thrashed.

At that moment Darpa felt entitled to a little selfishness. All his life he had put others' needs before his own, and it had only succeeded in getting him trampled on. But alas, he was being unfair to poor Inteurn, for Darpa had seen nothing but sincerity of conviction in Inteurn, and there was nothing that should make him believe that Inteurn would leave him hanging. But that blood-stained bandage upon Inteurn's neck didn't exactly fill Darpa with confidence.

Darpa resigned to hanging his head, "Please be okay."

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Thaddeus found the sight before him amusing: the blue-haired youth fretting over the silver-haired boy who laid unconscious. Thaddeus could spot the signs a mile off, and all he could do was shake his head. "I'm sure he'll pull through. He has a resilient spirit." Thaddeus reassured, startling the blue-haired youth, Darpa. Thaddeus meant every word. There was something about Inteurn that promised such great things.

As Thaddeus walked out of the infirmary and into the night air, he began to think of how he could incorporated the promising youth into his plans. Inteurn had caught his attention from the moment he met him, now Thaddeus needed to see Inteurn in action. So he'd wait for Inteurn to recover. It was only a matter of time.

But until then, the Camp must continue its activities. Life goes on. Thaddeus went back to his tent located in the direct center of the Camp. He needed to call a meeting for the senior district leaders.

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Leila sat in silence at the vanity, watching the servant brush her long, golden hair in the mirror. One hundred strokes for good luck, the servant said. She was unaccustomed to having someone else do for her what she would normally do for herself, but she was bloody and dirty from her ordeal with the evacuation and her short and unpleasant stay in the cell, and she was emotionally and physically too exhausted from her battle to keep up a strong front. So she let the servant bathe her, and dress her, and brush her hair, with no resistance; she was in no mood to fight.

The servant had dressed her in a lovely baby blue lacy nightgown, and for a split second she allowed herself to marvel at herself in the mirror, for she had never worn anything so rich in all her life.

"You clean up well." Came the voice she'd come to associate with her "savior". Leila was snapped back to the present as she turned to face the man who was looking upon her with obvious approval. The servant stopped brushing and excused herself from the room. "Come, my Lady, you must be famished," he ventured, offering his arm. As much as she wanted to protest being called "his Lady", she had to admit that she could stand to eat something. And as if on cue, her stomach gave an audible _growl_. The man smirked and led her to the grand dining hall.

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They all rematerialized at their usual meeting place, the Arena. It always had an almost oppressive feel to it, especially now that it was devoid of patrons. In the still of the night one could almost hear the roar of the spectators. Magarsic would normally bask in such an environment, but he knew full well what he was there for.

Here in this dark solitude, the three were greeted by a lone figure in blue. His garments were almost a metallic blue with silver trim, and upon his shaven head he sported a tattoo of intricate swirls, which, at first glance, looked like an exposed brain.

"Keledean, where's Demorden?" Magarsic demanded. "Why, it's good to see you too, Magarsic! Oh, me? I'm fine. Thanks for asking." Keledean retorted sarcastically. But seeing that Magarsic's expression didn't change, he took on a more serious tone. "He'll be along shortly."

As if on cue, Demorden appeared in a red beam of light. "Did someone call my name?" He asked, jokingly, and then was nearly knocked over by Adulne as she flung her arms around him and kissed him fiercely on the lips. He had missed Adulne as much and she had missed him, but while sneaking a peak over Adulne's shoulder, he noticed the irate look on Magarsic's face, and so reluctantly, he pulled away from Adulne's longing embrace. "Right. On to business then."

The pale-faced bald man cleared his throat, straightened his deep red shirt and began, "It's good to see you all again and in one piece," Demorden stole an apologetic glance in Adulne's direction and continued, "Now, apparently, you're not the only ones trying to get the Key; another creature has been sent, and he and the Minions are attacking Veusig as we speak. He is called Kovah. He's an earthquake all on his own, and his voice can shake the largest of structures to the ground. Unfortunately, I am unable to tell you of his full weapons array. But I can provide you with a visual description of his features." Demorden then sent a mental image to his four teammates.

"Alright, then. It's time for the call!" Magarsic commanded, about to call upon his totem, when he remembered his place, then amended as he looked upon Demorden's amused expression, "Is that not so, Demorden?" "Of coarse, Magarsic." Demorden replied, smiling and shaking his bald head, then he began.

"Demi-Dragon!" Demorden commanded.

"Demi-Owl!" Called Adulne, in the same fashion.

"Demi-Lioness!" Freideron summoned.

"Demi-Wolf!" Magarsic commanded.

"Demi-Tiger!" Keledean called, ending the role call. And off to Veusig they went, in beams of colorful light.

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The air had cooled down considerably around them. It had been so for hours, but the anticipation of battle made them aware of it.

A night fight. It's been a while since the last time Demorden had one. A shiver of anticipation went down his spine. Demorden listened to the night, trying to pick out anything out of the ordinary. Just then, the wind kicked up, rustling the leaves of the trees, and along with it came a horrid smell that his helmet unfortunately couldn't shield him from. "Minions," he breathed, barely above a whisper. And as if responding to his acknowledgement, they made their presence known.

Hundreds of maggots started snaking their way down the trunk of the tree nearest him, then finally settled into a writhing heap at the base of the tree. Demorden took a few steps back in disgust, only to bump into Magarsic, who also was recoiling from a similar scene before him. Freideron put a hand to the mouthpiece of her helmet and lurched as if she were about to hurl.

Adulne was the first to find her voice, "Glah! Let's do away with these things before I bring up my breakfast!" The Minions' horrid smell was only surpassed by their grotesque appearance; decomposing flesh dripped from rotting muscle. It was a miracle they could stand at all! Correction: it was no miracle.

Suddenly the forest became deathly quiet; not even a single creak of a cricket. Demorden would never get used to that.

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Once seated the servants came out with trays of food, and even as the servants ladled the heavenly-smelling food into the empty plate before her, Leila could scarcely concentrate on the food, for she could feel the man's intent stare and it made her uncomfortable.

"Was I wrong to assume you were hungry, my Lady?" he asked of her finally. "I am **not** your lady!" she snapped with a glare, finally finding her voice. "Yet," the man amended, moving his gaze off of Leila and onto his plate, where he began digging into the meal with his knife and fork. "But after the commitment ceremony, you will be."

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Freideron leapt up into a tree and looked down at the Minions. She was highly disturbed by them. Not only by their appearance, but by the dark magic used to get them that way. She had a deep respect for the dead, and to know that they were violated this way shook her to the core. But she knew she had to fight these creatures to move on to the _real_ threat. It has always been this way.

With a low, throaty growl, Freideron leapt from her perch in the tree onto the nearest Minion and tackled it to the ground. And with the claws she unsheathed through her gloves, she began slashing at the Minion's putrid face until it ceased to move. "Phew!" Keledean whistled. "Remind me never to get on Freideron's bad side!" He joked.

Freideron stood up and looked at her gloved hands and the front of her suit, observing the bits of flesh and globs of congealed blood that managed to stick onto her formerly clean purple suit. Her hands shot to her stomach as it gave a violent twist. She might hurl after all.

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"Fight it, Freideron!" came Adulne's concerned but commanding voice. "If you take off your helmet, you'll leave yourself vulnerable!" She finished. This was true. So Freideron straightened up and found her voice just in time to yell, "Adulne! Behind you!" "I heard them!" Adulne reassured, and whizzed around to kick the oncoming Minion in the solar plexus--just to have her foot get stuck in its ribs!

"Dammit!" Adulne cursed. Then she quickly whipped out her other foot to connect with the side of the Minion's head. Landing on that foot and on her hands, she braced herself on her hands and used that foot to back kick the Minion, dislodging her other foot, and used that momentum to tumble forward.

She got back to her feet to see that the Minion that now sported a gaping hole through its chest cavity, was still coming at her! She stood still. Her visor shown with a silvery-white glow, which stunned the Minion into stillness. Then she walked up to him, drew her sword and lopped off its head. "Daaaaamn! You girls are vicious!" Keledean exclaimed with approval. Sheathing her sword Adulne replied, "You don't know the half."

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Leila looked down, focusing on her fork. She knew that what this man said about a commitment ceremony was the truth. She also knew that there was nothing she could do to change it. She hated how powerless she was at the moment. But maybe she still had some control.

She picked up her fork and clutched it tightly as she envisioned taking it and thrusting it through the man's throat…but instead she stuck the fork into her meal and began to eat.

After an uncomfortable silence, Leila asked, not bothering to lift her head form her plate, "Who are you?" The man began to laugh, for indeed he had not formally introduced himself. "I am Bacchus Canon. I own half of the dacnirvos (casinoes) in this city," he finished, beaming with obvious pride.

Leila began shaking her head, which wiped the smile off his face. Then finally she looked from her plate and said, "What in the Nether is wrong with you? Why do you feel the need to steal an already-married woman and force her to be your bride? I mean, that makes no sense! Why can't you just meet a woman the old fashioned way like a normal person? You know, you meet a woman you like halfway, and if she actually _likes_ you then _maybe_ you can ask her hand in marriage! I wonder if you even realize how backwards this is!" Leila ranted, not bothering to stifle her disgust.

Bacchus sat flabbergasted. He honestly didn't know how he was to reply, but after some thought he finally came up with something. "Ask all the questions you'd like, for that won't change the fact that I _will_ wed you," then smiled at his cleverness. "Then you must truly be desperate to resort to such lengths to hold down a woman," Leila retorted and looked back down at her plate. Once again Bacchus' smile fell. Dinner, for him, was officially spoiled.

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Keledean sensed the undead presence of the Minion behind him and back flipped over its head. The Minion spun around, swinging its arm in hopes of connecting with Keledean's head, bit Keledean saw this coming and ducked. The Minion followed through with another attempt.

Keledean blocked the Minion's forearm and sent his free fist into the Minion's decrepit face, then twisted its arm to the back and pushed its back down, and with a decisive _pop_ the arm came off in Keledean's hand. With it Keledean beat the Minion over the head until it stopped moving. "I dare say, you're enjoying this!" Came Magarsic's disapproving voice. "Yeah, I am!" Keledean chuckled, tossing the arm aside.

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Magarsic could only shake his helmeted head. He had more pressing things to think about, and there was no way in the Nether he was about to let those putrid creatures get the first move on him, so he picked a target and began his pre-emptive attack. Magarsic grabbed hold of the Minion at the waist and turned it upside down, so that the Minion's head was pointing downward, and he held the Minion's waist in a bear hug. Still holding the Minion in this position, Magarsic jumped and landed on his backside, forcing the Minion's head into the ground. "My, Magarsic! Are you certain you weren't meant to be an arena wrestler?" Demorden chuckled, impressed. Magarsic said nothing. "What do you call that move?" He asked. "The 'sit-out pile driver,'" Magarsic answered matter-of-factly.

Magarsic then threw the Minion against a tree where it collided with a sickening _crunch_ and then crumpled at the base of the tree in a disgusting heap. In moments, in place of the heap of rotting flesh, was a mound of squirming maggots and worms, which retreated into the ground.

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As amused as Demorden was at Magarsic's display of aggression, Demorden had to admit that Magarsic was onto something, because it was growing darker by the minute and they were on a mission. The sooner they did away with these Minions and got out of this dark forest, the better. So Demorden contributed to the fray with his own preemptive attack on the Minion unfortunate enough to be closest to him. And the plan was simple enough: Aim for the Z...just kidding. Aim for the head.

Demorden aimed his spinning-heal kick at the walking dead thing's head, and watched as the head spun back almost 180 degrees. Then watched in repulsion as the thing gripped its head with both hands and turned it back to its original forward position. "Glah! You have got to be joking," Demorden muttered, but recovered quickly enough to follow through with a back flip mere inches away from the Minion, resulting in the Minion getting Demorden's booted feet to its chin. The Minion's head literally _snapped_ back.

The Minion stalled for a moment, and then fell backwards. Wasting no time, Demorden lifted the limp Minion up by its neck and then hoisted the thing above his head with both hands, then brought the living corps down to connect with his upraised knee. The Minion's spine bent in a direction no humanoid should ever bend in. Then Demorden released the Minion, allowing it to fall where it may. The Minion then reverted back to its original state of maggots and worms, to be reabsorbed by the earth. "And what do you call _that_ one?" Magarsic asked, only marginally amused. "The 'spine buster,'" Demorden answered happily, grinning under his helmet.

Demorden was glad to be done with the Minions, for the Minions, being corpses, and unnaturally brought back to life, disrupted nature's natural flow. Now with the Minions subdued, life in these woods of Veusig could go back to normal. But his smile soon fell, for something had just occurred to him: life in the forest failed to normalize, for all the nocturnal creatures remained eerily still. They weren't finished.

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"Comrades! I think it's time to switch to night vision. This may take a while." Came Demorden's authoritative voice through the darkness. This may prove to be a blessing in disguise though, for the Minions' night vision was questionable. Demorden was satisfied that his team could handle these Minions. Certainly they'd be down for the count in round two.

Suddenly the ground around the five Demigods opened up in cracks and bubbling through them came those creepy crawly creatures that feasted off of death, forming into mounds that once again became the Minions, and they stood as before. But something was different. The Minions began walking into each other, the worms and maggots that were their being separating to assimilate the second being, and the result was more monstrous than the original. Suddenly they were surrounded by half the amount of Minions, but these Minions were larger and more solid; instead of looking like flesh that couldn't hold itself together, their flesh looked like leather, and their muscular mass doubled. The Minions had merged, and what stood before the five Demigods in all their horrid glory were the result: The Minion Hybrid.

Gone was Demorden's certainty of getting this over with quickly and without injury. And if there was any doubt about the Hybrids' ability to see in the dark, their eyes glowed green meaning they possessed night vision. _Shit_, was the collective thought.

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_Fine fucking timing! How in the Nether did they expect to find a pharmacy that was open at this time of night?_ Gradice thought as he and the medic trotted around the sleeping city. "Would you stop fretting! Gods, you would think you were a girl!" the medic scolded in response to Gradice's constant fidgeting. "All we have to do is look for a temple. They never close." "Well, lead the way," Gradice said in mock surrender.

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Quick as lightning, a Minion Hybrid flew at Demorden and mercilessly showered blow after blow to his helmeted head, cracking it some. Then the Hybrid grabbed hold of Demorden's neck in a deadly hold and squeezed.

Demorden's vision began to blur and he couldn't breathe. But before he blacked out, he found the strength to execute one desperate move. Demorden's visor glowed a sinister red of liquid fire, then concentrated a steady beam at the Hybrid's head, hurling the Minion Hybrid some yards away to crash through a tree. Demorden took this opportunity to catch his breath.

The Hybrid recovered quickly enough, despite the fact that its head was now ablaze, and launched out its whip of human leather towards Demorden's neck, only to be blocked by Demorden's forearm. The whip wrapped around his wrist a couple of times.

Demorden quickly closed the distance between them and sent his free fist into the Hybrid's leathery jaw. He ignored the horrid stench of burning flesh emitting from the Hybrid's still-blazing head. Then he wretched the whip from out of the Hybrid's grasp and wrapped it around its neck.

The Minion Hybrid quickly unraveled its neck from the whip and swept Demorden's feet from under him and reclaimed its weapon. Without wasting another moment, the Hybrid pinned Demorden down with its foot at his throat, and from its elbow the Hybrid procured a sinister-looking sword of bone. Eyeing the sword with apprehension, Demorden thought, _oh shit…_

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Magarsic transformed his mouthpiece into a fully functional snout, complete with ominous-looking teeth and a snarl, and launched himself at the Minion Hybrid that now had Demorden pinned, barking all the way. They tumbled end over end, which snuffed out the flames that consumed the Hybrid's head. They finally came to a stop with Magarsic on top. Magarsic paused to snarl at the charred Minion Hybrid before digging into it with teeth and claws, which was no easy feat with the upgrade the Minions had just undergone.

"Daaamn! No wonder you and Freideron hooked up: the both of you are crazy! Keledean chided in good nature. But before he could fully laugh outright, another Hybrid attacks him from behind, confining him in a sleeper hold.

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_Ah, sweet mercy!_ Gradice winced as he dismounted his horse. The stupid slash on his back was acting up. Why now? And Gradice wasn't certain if it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but the pain seemed to increase the closer they got to the temple.

Oil lamps illuminated the entranceway and seemed to beckon them, and Gradice looked up to observe the sun symbol above the door. _The Temple of Light,_ he assessed, yet somehow he already knew that. Gradice and the medic tied their horses to nearby poles and strode up to the door. The medic seemed to pause before pushing open the tall, heavy wooden doors. Gradice didn't blame him, for Gradice was in awe; the combination of beauty and serenity the lobby alone gave off was enough to catch Gradice's breath.

"How may I help you fine gentlemen this evening?" a monk in white robes of home-spun cloth with gold trim offered, surveying the two wearily, but maintaining a pleasant smile. Gradice didn't even realize that someone else had entered the room!

"Good evening, Brother," the medic began with a formal salutation, speaking for the both of them. "Would it be too much to ask some medicine of you?" the medic continued. His polite speech surprised and baffled Gradice. If he didn't know any better, he would say the medic was almost...gentleman-like!

"But of course," the monk yielded. Even though the monk was speaking to the medic, he was _looking_ at Gradice. Gradice noticed this, but felt too at home to find that odd. "Follow me to the storeroom and you can take your pick of whatever you need."

Gradice and the medic followed the monk down a hall and down some winding stairs until they arrived at a locked door. The monk procured the keys from a hidden pocket within his robes and unlocked the door, and Gradice and the medic proceeded to take from the storeroom what they needed--and a little extra, but not too much to offend the temple's generosity.

They got as far as the front of the temple to untie their horses before the pain in Gradice's lower back became unbearable. _What is this? I was fine mere hours ago!_ he wondered painfully to himself. "Young sir, you seem to be in great pain. Do I dare ask what could be the matter?" the monk asked. "It's nothing," Gradice assured through clenched teeth. He may be in pain at the moment, but he knew of someone who might be _dead_ by morning! "Pardon my saying, young sir, but I do not think it's nothing, for alas, you are bleeding."

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Struggling only further secured the hold. Keledean's eyes began to flutter and he began to slip out of consciousness. But what brought him back to awareness was the unmistakable sound of maggots crawling; eating their way through his helmet! He'll be damned if he let them get through to his brain! Correction: he'd be brain-dead.

In a last-ditch attempt to save his precious brain, he reached his hand back and grabbed where he figured the Hybrid's balls should be--can a Minion even be considered male?--and squeezed for dear life, and then commanded ice to form at his palm, causing ice to spread throughout the Hybrid's groin area, thighs and torso. The Hybrid, literally frozen, had loosened its hold; the maggots ceased their assault on Keledean's helmet. Then Keledean sent his elbow into the Hybrid's frozen torso, and watched as it stumbled back comically because of the lack of mobility in its legs. _Now_ Keledean could laugh outright!

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Adulne stood stupefied at the sight of Keledean doubled over in laughter. Keledean could find the humor in almost anything. Sometimes she wondered about his mental state. But Adulne had to give him credit for one thing: Keledean knew the meaning of friendship, for once he had his fill of whatever he found so funny, he rushed over to Demorden's side to see how he was.

Magarsic was finished ripping the Hybrid he just saved Demorden from to leather ribbons and was about to walk away when Demorden's "thank you" halted him. Adulne could tell that Magarsic wasn't expecting to be thanked (the momentary bewildered look on his face was a dead giveaway). Adulne allowed herself to smile at the awkward, touching scene--and was taken completely off guard by the sword of bone that ran her through from behind.

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For Adulne time seemed to come to a screeching halt. Breathing was difficult, and what breath did come was accompanied by blood. How could she let his happen? How…She couldn't think. Then a fresh pain rocked her core as the Minion Hybrid gave the crude sword of bone a sharp twist. "Gods!" she gasped. Then the walking dead creature violently withdrew its sword. _How…_she thought, as the ground rose to meet her, but the black took her before she even made contact.

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"Noooo!" Freideron cried as she saw Adulne hit the ground. She ran with all the speed her totem would allow her, drew her sword and slashed into the Hybrid that now sported Adulne's blood on its sword. Freideron saw red and cut the Hybrid to pieces with uncharacteristic fury, then fell to her knees beside Adulne's lifeless, demorphed form. Red stained Adulne's white garments.

Freideron had no idea when Demorden had made it to her side, all she knew was that Demorden now cradled Adulne in his arms. Freideron never saw him so broken. Then he brought himself back into the role of leader and commanded, "Freideron, take her to an infirmary. We'll handle the Minions and Kovah!" Freideron didn't need to be told twice. In the next moment she and Adulne were gone in two streaks of purple light.

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Gradice quickly brought a hand to his lower back to find that he indeed was bleeding. "I can handle that when we get back," the medic promised, now a little anxious. "Pardon me, Bizhedo, but it looks as though you have a long ride ahead of you. Allow me to see to him. I insist." the monk contended, less humble and more demanding, and before the medic could protest any further, the monk was shooing Gradice back into the temple.

The monk ushered the blonde boy into a small prayer room with an alter adorned with lit candles and a small bowl of water for ablutions. It was pointless to fight, for Gradice was bleeding, and Gods dammit did it hurt!

"Have a seat," the monk indicated one of the few small benches arranged in a circle in the center of the room. "May I ask your name, young sir?" said the monk as he reached under the skirt of the alter and puller out a bowl of water not unlike the bowl atop the alter, and some towels. "Gradice. Gradice Yugesoji," the blonde boy offered. The monk gave a slight start but continued.

"Yugesoji. What an interesting name. Where is your family from?" The monk asked, as he carefully removed Gradice's bloody shirt. "I...I don't know," he admitted. He never really thought about his lineage before. He never had to. He was perfectly satisfied with his life in Lijog, and the Joir was close enough to a father; he never once wondered where his name came from.

"Well, that's a shame," the monk said with a sympathetic smile before cleaning the blood with a wet towel. "What is it like...being a monk?" Gradice asked absently as the monk began numbing the skin to prep it for re-stitching. Are you considering going for confirmation?" the monk asked pleasantly, beginning to sew. "Not really," Gradice admitted. "But this peace is ideal."

_Why is this place so familiar to me?_ Gradice wondered to himself. "It's ideal, but it's not the reality for you," the monk said with such a certainty that startled Gradice back into the present. "All done, Yugesoji-son," the monk announced with a pleasant smile. Gradice was given a new shirt and sent on his way.

As Gradice and the medic sped off back in the direction of the camp, a strange purple light streaked across the sky and ended at the temple they just left. Gradice had much to think about. Meanwhile, back in one of the prayer rooms, the monk confided to one of his fellow Brothers of the Robe, "Our little Kirudeta has returned to us--and it appears his journey has only just begun."

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_Dammit, I should've been there!_ Demorden scolded himself. Tears stung his eyes and he was thankful for his helmet. But he was leader and right now his team needed a strong leader; he had no time for regret. He stood up and took a deep breath, allowing the cold night air to cut into his lungs, then dusted himself off as best he could. Demorden slowing drew his sword and commanded it to ignite. "This ends now."

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Freideron and Adulne rematerialized in the lobby of the Temple of Light. "Please! I need help!" she shouted to the empty hall, her voice echoing off the walls. Moments later a monk in white robes with gold trim came scurrying out, then, realizing who she was, bowed deeply. "Esteemed one! It is an honor to receive you! What might this humble creature do to serve you?" "My partner is severely injured…" Freideron began, as she held Adulne closer to her. "Of course, we'll prepare a room for you at once," offered the monk, and in moments Freideron was led to a dimly lit room, sparsely decorated with a single cot and a small table beside it. Atop the table rested everything she'll need.

Freideron gently laid Adulne on the cot, and demorphed. "Adulne, sweetie, you will be fine." Just then monks started filing in and lined themselves against the walls. The monks began to chant in the familiar tongue as Freideron began cutting away the bloody clothing. "Vgoij icoh, taghiyo caj naeg hogkicjh cal jwij jwon wiko hwos jwoug qzis uc naeg cibo." _Great ones, forsake not your servants now that they have shed their blood in your name._

Freideron gently cleaned Adulne's skin of the blood with the cloth and water provided, and cleaned the wound with antiseptic liquid. Then reached for the needle and thread, and before putting it to Adulne's wound she prayed, "Gods, steady my hand," then began to sew, all the while with the monks chanting, _Great Ones, forsake not your servants now that they have shed their blood in your name. _"Forsake not your servants," Freideron repeated tearfully.

Freideron then smeared ointment on the new stitches and gently wrapped Adulne in gauze. "You _will_ live," Freideron promised, resting a hand to Adulne's cool cheek. Freideron closed her eyes and took a deep breath before bringing her face down to meet Adulne's. Freideron could taste the metallic saltiness of the blood that still remained on Adulne's lips. Moments later Freideron could feel the life leave her body and enter into Adulne's, and just before the black completely consumed her, she stretched out on the cot to accompany Adulne in darkness.

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If you had told Thaddeus a decade ago that he'd be doing what he was doing, he would've punched you, for indeed he was doing the exact opposite of what he thought he'd be doing. But all man is is the slave of circumstance, and in order for man to survive he must accept circumstance's mastery even if it means surrendering all you know to be right. Thaddeus was no exception.

He looked upon the Camp, his creation, with a mixture of bitterness and pride. All this was now necessary. With all this he can become the master of his circumstance. Thaddeus shook his head. The time for contemplation was over. It was time to get to work. He made his way to the Information district and marched into the Bookkeeping building.

"Have we gotten any word back on our order of Que metal?" Thaddeus asked of the man busily organizing ledgers and files, and putting them into drawers. Thaddeus knew that he could have someone come to _him_ and report these kind of things to him, but he preferred to go out and gather the information himself, for he led by example.

"Not yet, Bizohedo. Sales is still haggling for a better price. We're coming close to an agreement," said the man, stopping what he was doing to acknowledge the leader. "Thank you," said Thaddeus, and left the building to go to Sales in the Weapons district.

Thaddeus swung the door open to the Sales building and began, "What's the status on the price of the Que?" he asked of the man taking inventory, loading wares into crates and double-checking order forms to go into Zigayoc. "I managed to work the price down form 1,000nir to 850, Bizohedo." "Good work. Contact Feuric and prepare the Inks for transfer," Thaddeus order, pleased with how smoothly things were coming along.

Thaddeus looked up at the sky and smiled at the two moons. _You will not get the better of me, _he thought, referring to the Gods he knew resided on one of them. Sighing, he continued towards his tent, for he had some major thinking to do.

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The Hybrid swung its crude sword at Demorden's head, but he blocked it with his own sword and then sent a low side kick into the Minion Hybrid's knee, then followed that with a side kick to it's chest, and then an upward slash with his blazing sword. The Hybrid staggered back, now sporting a fiery slash from its chest to the side of its face, but the Hybrid didn't recoil; instead it _owned_ it.

The Hybrid quickly recovered and launched back into action, grabbing hold of Demorden and head butting him. It then took the handle of its sword and cracked Demorden on his helmeted head with it, then followed through with a knee to the chin, which resulted in Demorden sprawled out on his back. Then the Hybrid sought to stomp Demorden's chest in with its big leather-clad foot, but Demorden rolled out of the way and quickly kicked himself back to his feet, holding his blazing sword at ready.

Seeing that its foot missed its mark, the Hybrid quickly lashed out its sword at Demorden's midsection. He leapt back. The Hybrid then followed through with a forward thrust of its crude sword of bone. Demorden parried. Then the Minion Hybrid followed that up with a back-hand using its free hand, which connected, causing Demorden to stumble and spin around, but still managing to remain standing. But the Hybrid wasn't finished. The Hybrid whipped out a spinning-heel kick, which had Demorden completely spinning out in the same direction as before, landing hard on the ground.

His helmet was cracking even further. Neither he nor his helmet could take much more of this. In the next moment, the heavy Hybrid had Demorden pinned, with both hands planted firmly on either side of his helmet. The next thing he heard was the sound of mutated maggots making their way through the cracks of his helmet. _Oh, I don't fucking think so!_ Demorden swore as he blasted the Hybrid off him using a concentrated beam of liquid fire through his visor, then shook his head free of any wayward maggots.

For good measure, Demorden blasted the super sized zombie again. He took advantage of the Hybrid's unsteadiness to take his sword and run the Hybrid through. "This is for Adulne, you ugly son-of-a-nether-realm-whore!" Demorden seethed, then violently withdrew his blazing sword, and brought it down on the top of the Hybrid's head, neatly cutting it in half down to its neck.

But taking out this monster was no consolation for not being there for Adulne. All he could hope to do now was get this battle over with quickly so that he could be by her side. "Alright, fellahs. On to Kovah!"

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Thaddeus sat on his bed and reached for the black box that always sat on the table next to his bed. He opened the box and took out a sheet of the thin, brown, leaf-like paper out of its special compartment. Then pinched up some of the sweet-smelling green herb between his fingers and rolled it up on the paper, licked the paper to seal it, and lit it with a match. Thaddeus closed the black box, stretched out on his bed, and took a long drag.

He did some of his best thinking just like this, and tonight he needed to figure out what his next move about Inteurn should be. Taking another drag, he would eventually come to his conclusion.

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The servant had turned down the covers of the king-sized bed and Bacchus was making himself comfortable. He looked upon Leila with curiosity and amusement as she pounded her pillow into submission and made herself at home on the floor. "Don't be silly, woman. Come to bed," Bacchus said, half laughing at the lovely lady lying on the floor. Keeping her back to him, she declared, "I refuse to lie in the same bad with you. I'd rather sleep on the floor."

"No wife of mine will sleep on the floor!" he commanded, somewhat losing his patience; this game of defiance was getting old. "I am **not** your wife!" Leila bellowed, springing upright and glaring at the smug Bacchus. "Yet!" he amended and leapt off the bed to meet her on the floor. He lifted her up by the arm only to have her pull away.

Bacchus had officially lost all patience and was motioning to back-hand her when she said, "Are you going to hit me?" Leila snorted, "You'll be shocked to find that I hit back," she challenged, meaning every word. Leila stared him down. As if to test her, he went through with it and smacked her…only to have her make good on her promise and smack him back.

There they both stood in the lavish bedroom, holding their faces and staring each other down. Then Leila made the first move and reclaimed her spot on the floor. And Bacchus returned to the bed and blew out the oil lamp.

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'Complete power corrupts completely', was that how the saying went? Well, Thaddeus knew first hand that this saying was true, and he hoped that this saying would prove to be true for young Inteurn. Thaddeus sensed Inteurn's authoritative energy and knew that Inteurn would have the other boys rallying behind him in no time. And if Inteurn was busy giving orders, his mind wouldn't be on the fact that his life was destroyed. If Thaddeus could get Inteurn to too much enjoy having power, then he'd be less likely to want to give it up--and then Thaddeus would have complete control.

Loyalty. Loyalty was the thing Thaddeus needed. If he didn't have people on his side that were as dedicated to seeing his mission succeed as he was, he'd be doomed to fail. And he will not fail, or his pledge will be broken. That cannot happen.

Inteurn was the key, and it all begins with the offer of power. His best idea yet.

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"You do realize that now we can't form the Mega-Suit, don't you?" Magarsic asked of Demorden. Demorden was still quite numb from what just happened and for Magarsic to make such an insensitive statement made him want to knock his head off. "Well, my green friend, I couldn't very well have Adulne pilot her Suit in the state she was in now could I?" Demorden shot back, hoping that Magarsic could tell that he was shooting him daggers through his helmet. "We'll just have to kick Kovah's ass the hard way," Demorden finished.

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_**It had been a bitter and bloody battle, and even Keledean was in low spirits. But they were the victors, destroying their adversary until nary but his parts remained.**_

_**The sun had finally come up, and in the light of day one could see clearly the aftermath of the battle: burrows in the sand from where Kovah caused the earth to quake; burn marks brought on by the friction of the Demigods' Mechani-Suits skidding across the sands; Kovah's blood stains from when the Demigods in their Mechani-Suits began cutting into the hundred-story creature; and Kovah's dismembered body as the pieces laid haphazardly upon the orange sands.**_

_**Demorden, Magarsic and Keledean had been fighting all night, and their bodies screamed for rest, but none would come to them in the deserts west of the Kingdom of Veusig, for there was no rest for the weary of body, mind and soul.**_

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Leila woke to a crick neck, an aching back and the smell of breakfast, and followed her nose to the grand dining hall where she spotted Bacchus occupying the same seat from the night before, sipping tea and leafing through the morning news bulletins. He noticed her at the entrance and smiled as he mocked, "Slept well?" She sneered at him and without realizing it, took the very seat she occupied the night before.

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Adulne gasped as if emerging from deep waters. "Where am I?" she demanded, then looked over to see Freideron laying beside her. Adulne's sudden start roused Freideron from her fitful slumber. Adulne asked in a shaking voice, "Are we dead?" and took the opportunity to take in her unfamiliar surroundings. Freideron propped herself up on her elbow and assured, "No, we are not."

Calmed by Freideron's gentle voice, Adulne laid back down and rested her hand on her abdomen. She realized her state of undress just then, and took note of the bandages that were wrapped around her core and the strip strategically placed around her bosom to preserve her modesty.

"What happened?" Adulne whispered. "I healed you," Freideron replied in a similar hushed tone. "Thank you," Adulne said gratefully as she turned her head to face Freideron. "Are you alright?" she asked with concern. She would never forgive herself if she found that healing her caused Freideron great pain. "I'll live," Freideron promised with an assuring smile.

"Are you up for taking a walk with me?" Freideron asked. "Of course," Adulne agreed, and after being given a robe and a cloak, and thanking the monks, they were ready to go.

The sun had come up on the city of Feuric and all was still and peaceful. They had been walking in silence, enjoying the peace, when Freideron finally spoke, "Please don't think less of me, but do you ever feel like none of this is worth it? Like everything we do, all that we stand for, is a gross waste?" It shocked Adulne to hear Freideron so unsure. But she had to admit that she herself had been thinking similar thoughts as of late. "Like what we're doing is horribly wrong, and that we are the villains rather than the righteous?" Adulne contributed. "Yes, I know the feeling."


End file.
